


My Queen

by yourlocalbloodychicken



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Angst to Fluff, Book 3: The King of Attolia (Queen's Thief), Eugenides - Freeform, Eugenides x Attolia, F/M, Fluff, Irene - Freeform, The King of Attolia, The Queen of Attolia, a conspiracy of kings, agh they're so perfect ahhhh, attolia - Freeform, attolis - Freeform, gen - Freeform, queen's thief series, the Thief - Freeform, the return of the thief, thick as thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:54:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29553123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourlocalbloodychicken/pseuds/yourlocalbloodychicken
Summary: Eugenides/Attolia fluff (but it's Eugenides and Attolia so of course there's some angst)
Relationships: Attolia | Irene/Eugenides
Kudos: 7





	My Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the time of the third book (The King of Attolia)

The king-- or rather, Eugenides-- crept through the palace; stealthily, not that he knew many other ways of getting around. He hadn't taken note of the time, but the silver kiss of the moon just barely parted the heavy curtains of the palace windows with its light. He made no sound. Not a subtle whisper of his shoes slipping along the floors, not a gentle huff of his breath leaving his lips, not even a hollow thud of his heart beating in his chest was audible as he maneuvered his way through the candle-lit hallway. The flame of said candles-- sturdily held up by the intricate arms of their gold candelabras-- flickered his silhouette against the bold stone walls, but his conscious, focused steps were those of a feather, not even letting his shadow warrant the attention of the bricks, only brushing against them with a dim grey.

Eugenides paused for a moment just before the golden yellow orb that shone around the bashful flame of a candle whose wax was bleeding eagerly down towards the metal of its rim. He gazed down at his hand-- his left, needless to say-- and observed its every scratch and vein. He let his eyes drift to the seal ring confidently wrapped around his index finger. It never failed to look out of place on his Eddisian hand, but he found an odd sort of admiration at its misplaced-ness. Taking in its every detail; the gold that shined brighter than the candlelight, the ruby that was a deeper maroon than that of freshly spilled blood, every groove and dip in its base that wound and twisted up the gold like the branches of a dead tree grasping for the light of the moon- Eugenides' mouth twisted into a smirk, amused by the irony of having an Attolian seal possess his (only) hand.

Reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the ring he had so proudly conspired to receive, Eugenides finally allowed for one noise to penetrate the carefully-sculpted silence he had been so vigilant to keep; the scrape of the gold ring against the wall as it echoed its deeply powerful scratch to bounce against every stone and every window and ripple through the hall like a pebble skipping along the surface of a once-peaceful pond. He pulled his hand away, pausing to let the echo of the scrape flood into his ears, and wiggled his fingers, readjusting the ring to sit upright on the base of his finger with his thumb. He cautiously recollected the silence, not breaking it once more.

Too used to this path, Eugenides found himself in the corner of his queen's room a few minutes later, not completely remembering the details of how he'd wound up there; he didn't need his thoughts to direct his body through the narrow halls and secret passageways through which he had traveled countless times before. It had become a ritual-- not nightly, but common enough-- to sneak into Her Majesty's bed chambers, whether that was for the comfort of watching her stern, dominant gaze soften to a still-powerful but slightly more restful expression as she slept, or for the sake of having company during the nights he knew his nightmares would be unbearable. This night he just wanted her frigid company in a room beside him.

Two of her attendants were slumped over elegant, clearly uncomfortable, chairs with intricate gold backs and rich velvet seats. Their snoring was hushed to gentle breaths that barely flowed past their lips in fear of disturbing Her Majesty's restless sleep. Eugenides shuffled next to Attolia's pillow, sitting just by the edge of her comforter. His head rested against the silk of her sheets, allowing for her steady breath to trickle through his regal dark curls that stopped just above his shoulders. His hair was probably the only 'regal' detail of his appearance, that is, after Attolia had ordered one of her attendants to chop off more than half of it without so much as a pause to hear Eugenides' opinion on the makeover. Eugenides inhaled deeply-- but still silently-- as the breeze of her breath tingled down his neck, awakening every exhausted nerve that ran along his spine.

Eugenides turned his head to face her, leaving the tip of his nose just barely an inch away from her own, and hummed a low note so quietly that it seeped only into the queen's ear, barely disturbing the air around him. Even long after that night, Eugenides was never sure if he regretted calling Attolia to attention with the hum. To say she stirred would be a painful understatement. The queen jolted to her feet as if she had never been asleep in the first place, not taking more than half a second to drag her mind out of her subconscious. Her hand swept under her pillow before her feet met the ground and not three seconds after she had woken, she had Eugenides-- who had jumped to his own feet at her sudden movement-- pinned to the cold stone wall of her bedchamber with an intricately designed dagger pressed to his throat.

The dagger was short but dramatically elegant. In its handle was a collection of dried flowers whose colors melted together to swirl at the base of the weapon, each petal sweetly bleeding into another. At the very end of the handle rested a small drop of gold that teased the otherwise pastel color scheme with its daunting glint. At the base of the blade laid another braid of gold that rimmed the tip of the handle. The silver of the blade welcomed the scintillating light of the moon, which was streaming through the frost-kissed panes of the tall windows, to reflect off of its inviting steel. Attolia had kept the dagger-- which she sharpened often-- hidden under the fluffed pillow that rested on the side of the bed where she always slept.

The queen's attendants had risen to their feet abruptly- not half as quickly as the queen, but hastily, still. They started towards their queen, unsure of what action they meant to take once they reached her.

Not breaking the lock of her challenging stare with Eugenides, Attolia swiftly waved her hand behind her, the tip of her finger holding enough power to stop both attendants dead in their tracks with just the simple gesture.

Eugenides panted at the chilling tip of the dagger prodding at the bulge of his throat. The moon divided its attention between the blade and the fang-like tooth that teased the edge of Eugenides' bottom lip as he grinned, matching Attolia's forceful stare with his own playful gaze. He pursed his lips to swallow but the dagger bit at his skin too intently to allow for any movement in his throat. He let his lips part back into a boyish smile.

"G'morning to you too," his Eddissian accent shined through his voice more enthusiastically than the glow of the moon shined off the cool steel of Attolia's dagger.

Attolia grunted-- elegantly, still-- as she jerked the blade from his neck, pressing it deeper into his skin before pulling it away. Gen lifted his hand to rub the scar, appreciating the chilled gold of his ring as it soothed the light scratch.

"Weren't expecting me?" His grin didn't falter.

"Oh I always am," Attolia traced the intimidating edge of the blade with the tip of her forefinger as she spoke, with a malevolent glint in her eye that glimmered through the dark room.

Eugenides whispered a snicker before looking over to the attendants who were still hovering apprehensively behind their queen. He raised his own hand, "at ease," he spoke to them.

Attolia rose an eyebrow sharper than her dagger before turning a frigid shoulder to meet the unsteady gaze of the women behind her. She nodded, sending them back to rest on their chairs.

Attolia turned back to face the king, standing just as close as she had when the blade was pressed against him. "What is it exactly that you want," she paused, "Gen?"

"Only to see your radiant smile," he beamed sarcastically, coaxing out an eye roll from Attolia's otherwise expressionless face. She shifted back, granting him the space he needed to move from his pinned position against the wall. Hesitantly, he took the space and began to pace around the room, gazing down at the tip of his hook that hissed the white glint of the moon into his hazel-green eyes. The click of his heel pounded a steady rhythm to rebound off the expansive ceiling. Attolia followed him with her emerald gaze, only moving her eyes, leaving the rest of her body as--not stiff but-- still as the statues of gods and goddesses that stood in the Attolian temples. She let loose an impatient exhale and laid back on her bed to gaze into the charming abyss of her shadowed ceiling, mesmerized by its endlessness.

After a few minutes of Eugenides' heels filling the room with their constant, falsely confident clicks, he knelt down by Attolia's pillow to whisper in her ear, snapping her out of her exhausted, but focused, trance with just two silly words.

"Follow me," his words tickled in her ear amusingly, but her face showed no sign of even acknowledging them until she side-eyed him coolly.

"I'm offended that you think so little of me that I would follow you anywhere," she slid her gaze back to the ceiling, towards where her sharp chin was still pointed.

"Well then let me make it up to you," Gen performed an exaggerated bow while extending his hook. "M'lady," a sly grin slid between his cheeks as he stared at his boots.

Attolia scoffed and, to Gen's surprise, lurched forward to take his left hand.

Unprepared for the reciprocation of his gesture, Eugenides fiddled his hand awkwardly under hers before situating it properly to lace her fingers between his own. She jerked her and away as if his palm were some sort of molten rock still burning the wrath of boiling lava. Gen erected his posture, cocking his head to the side and lifting his eyebrow as he watched her, like a puppy observing its owner.

Attolia slowly and gently placed her hand in his, resting the tips of her fingers onto those of her king, but leaving the weight of her hand to be supported by her own self-assured arm.

Gen smirked, lightly pressing his thumb to the tops of her fingers to direct her up from her bed and out of the room.

As Their Majesties passed the queen's attendants, Attolia shot one a cold glare that rebounded off of one attendant's daunted face over to the other, easing their urges to follow the queen or even suggest that she return to her bed.

"Now how exactly do you expect to pass the _very competent_ guards outside the foyer?" Attolia asked, expecting no more than a vague, cocky response; which is exactly what she received.

"I have my ways," he smirked at her. She side-eyed him, unsurprised.

Outside the intricately painted doors that hovered high above their heads, Gen slipped his hand away from Attolia's to offer his elbow instead, with a charming grin that was less boyish than Attolia expected. She eyed his forearm hesitantly before locking her own elbow with his.

The king was often directed back and forth through the most pointless narrow hallways and "shortcuts" of the castle by his "clever"-- though he preferred "childish"-- attendants. In the light of day he could barely tell the garden from the courtyard or the library from the kitchen, hell he barely knew his own bedchamber from those of his attendants. But when the moon pushed its shy light over the horizon and the navy sky was laced with the twinkle of humble stars, the Thief could maneuver his way through every passage and corridor of the palace, with nothing but his hands to recognize the rigid grooves of the stone and his eyes to study the way the moonlight hit the marble floors of each room.

Directed by the wise glow of the moon, Eugenides slipped his way through the castle. To his surprise, and pleasure, the queen made just as little noise as he, the brush of her robes behind her just barely tickling a noise out of the marble as she walked. Attolia had lost all sense of direction after the first few corners and eventually stopped bothering to try to identify some sort of familiar landmark in her own vast castle. She was shocked to find herself standing just before the largest, and most elegant, fountain of her garden.

The trickling of the water as it spewed from the head of the fountain, was alluring, harmonizing with the hoots and purrs of whatever wildlife dared stir in the queen's garden. Just like it had off the dagger, the floors, and Eugenides' crooked grin, the moon invited its own reflection to sparkle across the ripples of the silver-blue fountain.

Attolia took a moment to adjust to her surroundings, trying, but failing, to retrace the various corners and hallways through which Eugenides had led her. She was sure he had gone to unnecessary lengths to disorient her. She finally pulled her arm away to hug herself, fighting back the refreshing, but still stinging, cold of the spring night.

Eugenides began shrugging off his cloak.

"Offer that to me and I'll-" Attolia shot a quick but obvious glance down at the king's left hand, interrupting herself with her own conscience before she could finish her sentence.

Eugenides didn't even need the first half to understand her thought. He lifted his left hand to examine it. "Hm," he paused, turning his hand over, still studying it closely, "personally I think two hooks would be a bit excessive, but what do I know?"

Attolia rolled her eyes. "Why are we here?" She expected no straight answer.

"Psht," Gen narrowed his eyebrows, "I thought you knew your king better than to expect him to have such an answer."

"Bold of you to assume I consider you _My King,"_ she inhaled, appreciating the refreshing breeze of the night with closed eyes. "Well," Attolia opened her eyes to look around, "I'm going back to my room." She started back towards the gates.

In one swift motion, Eugenides reached for her wrist. He snatched it without issue but had to reach across his body; an awkward movement for anyone without his experience with such a motion. "You really want to do that?" His voice would be challenging to anyone except Her Majesty.

"Yes." She pulled her arm away, but Eugenides tightened his grasp.

"Dance with me," his tone was as simple as his request.

"Are you joking?" Attolia's voice was full of disbelief but laced with just a whisper curiosity.

"No."

"There's no music."

"And?"

"And," Attolia paused, "to what exactly could we dance if there is no music?"

"I dunno." Eugenides jerked his arm, spinning her into his embrace as the pins of her hair loosened, leaving just a few strands to frame her flawless face. "Why don't we find out?"

With her eyes just as cold as the breeze, Attolia blew away the strands of hair that had swept before her nose, tossing her head back to secure them out of her face. Her body was still, but she didn't so much as eye the stairs that led to the gates.

"Now what?" Attolia spoke dryly.

"Now we dance," Gen offered her an authentic smile before lifting his arm to spin her. They danced to the back and forth howl of the wind, swaying alongside the leaves and branches of every bush and plant in the queen's garden.

Attolia's face never softened, but the wind harmonized with her presence in the garden; the breeze flowed through her hair, singling out just a few more strands to offer her a more natural glow that left her just as, if not more, strikingly radiant than in the light of day. The moonlight tickled her sharp cheekbones, softening them with a silver blush. Eugenides couldn't help but stare. Attolia was the perfect embodiment of grace. Whether she was storming through the palace halls, chilling every baron, attendant, and soldier with each assured step, or she was twirling in the garden, accompanied by the shimmer of the stars, which were only understudies to the stunning dazzle of her emerald eyes. Her stare could cut cleaner than her dagger, but her gaze could allure the sun, moon, and stars with just a simple glance.

Eugenides pressed the tip of his hook into her back gently, almost forgetting that it wasn't his hand. The cool steel bled through the silk of Attolia's robes, chilling her skin. She shuttered into Eugenides' arms, persuading a giddy smile to bound onto Gen's young face.

"Stop it," Attolia's tone was more blunt than her words.

"Stop what?" Gen's smile melted into a chuckle.

"Smiling."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I think I laughed earlier today, should I go pitch myself off the nearest watch tower?"

"If you feel so inclined."

Eugenides outright laughed, his mind completely hazed by the blinding radiance of his queen.

Attolia pulled away from him, surprisingly pained by the absence of his hand around her waist. But she didn't let it show. "Goodnight."

"Shall I help you back to your bedchamber?"

"No. I'm perfectly capable."

"Wouldn't doubt it for a second." Gen nodded a smile.

"My Queen."

"My King."

Attolia gingerly rested a hand on his cheek, letting it linger just long enough for her to brush her thumb along his cheekbone, inviting an even deeper blush to paint his olive skin. Eugenides leaned into her hand's embrace, accepting the gesture gladly.

Attolia turned away, her robes flowing behind her. To Gen she looked like a goddess. To anyone she would have. But Eugenides was not one to take such a word lightly. But standing there, watching Her Majesty stride away with her windswept hair gliding past her shoulders and the sparkle of her eyes still swimming in his own even though she was no longer facing him, he knew she couldn't have been sent by anyone other than the Gods above.


End file.
